The Romantic Erotic Novel

Chapter 2 – Part 8, Righteous no more…

This is chapter two, part eight of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here.

Chapter 2 – Part 8, Righteous No More…

I couldn’t rationalize what had happened to us at the ruins. It wasn’t that she had fucked these Mayan descendants – I still had the hippie mentality. I thought I was ‘liberated’ sexually and wasn’t hung-up on sexual fidelity. Other than the insult to my masculinity, I had no inherent objections to María fucking other men, I was already jaded. Every woman of my generation I had met in the last few years was a slut, and I was long used to swapping sluts around. That piece of paper, a notarized marriage certificate, was first and foremost a ticket to unlimited sex with María. It was an award of a trophy slut, my right to show off a better woman than even the richest man in Antigua could afford to buy. I certainly would have fucked other women, especially other men’s wives, but I didn’t want other women. I wasn’t monogamous, but I was absorbed my María, by her sensuality. I had the best masturbation solution in existence.

María was not only a trophy wife, but a trophy fuck. My best efforts to match her sexual energy were futile, and she easily fucked me to exhaustion, pumping me up hard again and again until I just couldn’t. But she never complained, always climaxed multiple times, and seemed satisfied.

I noticed after we married, men began to hit on María more often and harder than before. When María welcomed their advances, I always knew it. I felt my blood boiling, a hormone shock, just the slightest whiff and I knew she was wet. Maybe I couldn’t really smell it, but the hormone surge hit me so quickly I thought it was a scent. If I checked, she was wet. When she was in heat, it affected me the same way. I could detect arousal in other women almost as easily. But María was special – smelling any part of her body aroused me, especially her vulva, but her hair had an equally strong effect.

When María did cheat on me occasionally (or perhaps frequently) in those first years of marriage, I wasn’t too surprised, but it somehow felt different than with my adventures with women in Europe and the USA. I was jealous and hurt and didn’t know why. I couldn’t talk to María about it, I wasn’t ready to alienate her or scare her away. I knew before marrying her she was a slut, she told me herself. So I blinded myself to the signs. I couldn’t accept what the infidelity implied, and I didn’t want to know.

Had I wanted to know, I could have always told when something was amiss. María would put on a sexy panty and go out. She almost never wore panties except as a provocation to have sex, and to her, panties served a unique and essential function – to provoke the man to a painfully hard erection so he would quickly strip the panty from her body and drive his penis into her to relieve his pain. When María would return to the house, it was sans panty, and she would always take a shower and douche before she’d let me touch her. She never lost this maña (neurosis) for many, many years of our marriage. She never let me fuck her after another man had fucked her until she had cleaned-up. But at this time, I just deliberately chose to be blind to these definitive signs of infidelity and what the infidelity meant.

Directly stated, María’s infidelity implied I was inadequate as a man, as a partner for her, that I couldn’t satisfy a woman as sexual as María. Maria had judged me and found me wanting. I concede the point, because there is no rebuttal. She cheats because she wants more variety, more passion, a bigger or better penis, dozens of reasons large and small. Or maybe she’s just a cheap slut. I had no way to think about this reasonably, so I chose to pretend it didn’t happen or didn’t matter. It was the price I willingly paid to have a trophy slut like María. I also sensed María used the stability of our marriage, and the added allure of being married as a launch pad to seduce other men.

Every time I knew she cheated, Bunk and Josey argued about the reasons, sometimes scuffling and kicking my neurons and synapses. In one such scuffle, the blinders fell from my eyes. These men were lovers to María just like I had been to other men’s wives. These men servicing María were the righteous penises who wondered what was wrong with her husband – me. I realized then I was nothing special, just another ordinary guy married to an extraordinary woman.

But, but, but, in my heart-of-hearts, I knew something else was amiss. Underneath that stab of jealousy I felt in my groin when María was with another man was a small, perverse pleasure. A sexual pleasure, a thrill of debasement, something I didn’t understand. I felt pleasure precisely because I knew it was a deception, because I knew these lovers pleased María at my expense.

I began to rationalize cheating and being cheated were two sides of the same coin. That since a cheater couldn’t exist without a ‘cheatee’, being cheated was exactly the same action and deserved the same pleasure as cheating. I wondered if and what these lovers of María thought about me in the moment they plunged their penises into my slut-wife. Was it more pleasurable to fuck her because she was married? Because she was married to a gringo? Because they were stealing another man’s most prized possession? Because they were defeating and humiliating another man, even without his knowledge?

I began to discreetly help María cheat me. I purchased closets full of sexy inner- and outer-wear for María and she would try on the sexy lingerie and clothes for my comment. I encouraged it and paid close attention as I knew she was prepping for her lovers. I knew I helped her cheat me by my comments: “wow, that brassiere is super sexy”, “that outfit will drive any man crazy”, “that panty will cause any penis to salute.” I would grab and fuck her when she was especially alluring, when her posture, position, glances, gestures or attire were irresistible. By my actions, I taught her how to arouse and seduce other men, while feigning ignorance of her cheating.

I helped her develop her capacity to cheat because I wanted to be cheated. I wanted to feel the stabs of jealousy, the pangs of desire, the pain of humiliation as another man ravished her. While she was out on these adventures, I would lay on my bed, imagining what those lovers would be doing to her at that exact moment as I squeezed my testicles and pumped my penis. I would wonder how her lover would look at me the next time we passed on the street – would he smirk at me knowing he had pulled María’s vagina off my penis and inserted his own in its place? I would ejaculate at this thought because I wanted to be cheated. And it’s a good thing I wanted it because it was going to happen regardless of my desires. So I cheated vicariously through María. Of course María quickly figured-out I was twisted – when she returned home from her lovers, she’d pretend not to see my semen stains on the bedding just as I didn’t see the semen stains on her clothing. She knew I knew about her cheating, and she knew I liked it. By cheating, she pleased me.

I could usually tell which men had been successful with her – I could sense their disrespect when I encountered them. Bunk looked out at them from the back of my head, through their eyes, to the little man in the back of their head, dressed like Guatemalan peasants, grasping their penises at the base like a machete. They leered at me, telling me they had taken my wife, opened her legs, supped her essence, sucked milk from her breasts, rammed their penises deep into her from the mouth and vagina until their penises spiked her heart. Then they plunged their machete into my genitals and twisted it, cutting through my testicles and penis, the excruciating pain of a failed man knowing he wasn’t good enough for María. They had defeated me – my María would always remember them. When with me, she would be making love to them as she exploded in orgasm from my feeble attempts to please her.

There were a lot of such men that greeted me on the street, knowing they had fucked my slut-wife and thought I didn’t know. I didn’t really know, but that was OK, I am something of a masochist, and there is a price to pay for being an ordinary guy married to a extraordinary woman.

End of book content.

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